


Brighton Memoirs

by gardnerhill



Series: Brighton Memoirs [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Epistolary, Love Letters, M/M, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An excerpt from a few of the letters discovered in the Cox & Co. dispatch box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brighton Memoirs

13 April 1908 

My dear Holmes:

It has been less than a fortnight since I arrived here, and already I can sense the good this holiday has done me. I cannot thank you enough for your generous gift.

Today, for the first time, I was able to stir from my room and go out for a walk along the promenade unaccompanied by my nurse. Of course there are no bathers foolish enough to brave the rough cold water this early, but I was not alone on the walks. Like dormice stirring from winter hibernation, pale thin people, still heavily wrapped, are braving the outdoors for what is surely the first time this year. Many are still being wheeled in bathchairs, as I have been until today.

All around me I see proof of the toll taken by this winter's dreadful influenza epidemic; most of my fellow visitors to the spa seem to be convalescing invalids. I might as well have suffered the malady myself for all the difference in how the sufferers and the treater of the malignancy look. I had not realised what toll the long hours of grim work for weeks and months at a time in ghastly weather had taken, with the constant late-night summonses and bedside vigils, till I stared in disbelief at the pallid hollow-eyed wraith that stared back from the glass when first I arrived here. Now I understand Mrs Hudson's oversolicitousness and your own apprehensive glances. Indeed, now I know why you provided for my stay here, and I am full of gratitude. Only now that I am beginning to recover do I realise that every reserve of my strength had been spent; had the epidemic lasted even one week longer than it did, I would surely have succumbed, either to 'flu or to exhaustion, and joined far too many of my patients in the sleep that never ends.

I did little but sleep my first week here, being roused by my nurse only long enough to take simple nourishment. Only when I was awake fully as often as I was asleep was I permitted a trundle along the boardwalk, wheeled like a decrepit old veteran. Today was my first solitary sojourn in the spring air-and even after a mere half-hour I went straight to bed upon my return to my room. I awoke refreshed and restless, and was finally able to write.

This is the first day I have felt well enough to take pen in hand. I look forward to hearing from you, should your current case spare you a moment for a note.

Watson

***

April 15, 1908 

My dear Watson:

I am greatly relieved to hear from you, and even more relieved to hear that you are beginning to recover. You must regain your own health and well-being now that you have helped so many others regain theirs, and I trust you to care for yourself better than you have for many months, now that you are far from the demands of your practise. Despite the usual chestnuts about doctors being their own worst patients, you have never neglected your own health so thoroughly before; and it is your dedication and selflessness as a physician that is at fault, not absent- mindedness.

This case I have been pursuing has few points of interest, and none worthy of informing you. It is a jewel-theft that should have been handled by Scotland Yard but for the pedigreed name of both the gem and its owner; I am quite sure that he is more interested in the prestige of having Sherlock Holmes investigate his burglary than he is in giving Lestrade's men the chance they so desperately need to exercise their own poor faculties. Soon all will be made clear, the gem will be recovered, and then I must no doubt endure a great deal of adulation and commendation for a very little effort. I have found that it is my smallest efforts that garner my greatest outside fame, whilst the cases that involve all of my faculties to their utmost are but a whisper on the wind; I receive no notice, no commentary, and very little praise (save from you, my dear fellow, who never fail to stroke my admittedly powerful conceit about my abilities!). So there might be a new ribbon or cross in my desk-drawer when you come home, and our rent-money assured through the end of this new century -- but be assured that if any truly fascinating aspect of this case were to come to light I should notify my Boswell immediately, convalescing or not; I know you would never forgive me for letting such a potentially lucrative story slip through your fingers.

In truth, I was rather grateful for this case, simple as it is; it gave me something upon which to concentrate besides my anxiety over your health. Even so, your condition was far more often uppermost in my thoughts this March than was the loss of a lump of glorified coal from a nobleman's household. This year's epidemic has struck down many in the prime of life, and your practise required you to attend close upon the contagion, forsaking proper sleep and nourishment. It is a great weight off my mind and heart that you are finally becoming well and whole again.

Write again when and if you are so inclined; I look forward to any diversion from this appallingly routine bit of business.

Holmes

***

22 April 1908 

My dear Holmes:

I was pleased to have your letter. (And pleased to receive the parcel -- extend my thanks to Mrs Hudson for the currant scones.)

I miss you dreadfully, old chap, and I miss Baker Street; but I must not leave here until I recover, if I ever do. I would be useless to you -- and worse than useless.

My vitality returns with each new day. But even though I continue to gain physical strength, I am enjoying it less and less. I eat but do not savour the meals; more and more often I stay in my rooms and do not go outside. I am in the grip of a bout of melancholia.

Now that I have nothing to do but think, my realisation of how little I was able to do to combat the influenza haunts me. I have seen more death and devastation these past three months than ever I saw in my entire length of service in India -- and this tragedy was far worse. Most of the deaths this season have been of children, bearing women, and the elderly -- not at all like the hale young men I treated for bullet wounds and fever in Afghanistan. At least four times I was frantically summoned to some bedside in the wee hours of the morning, only to arrive to the sound of weeping; my only duty there to close a child's eyes and note the time of death. On those occasions I felt more like an undertaker than a doctor; it was as if my arrival triggered the patient's death. And now I wonder if I did anything beneficial at all, beyond comforting the dying.

I do not know for how long I will stay here-you did indicate that I was not to worry about the length of time I remained at the spa -- but it will not be for weeks yet. I cannot begin to contemplate returning; my loneliness and sense of isolation are not reason enough to return to Baker Street. I would merely be moping in my room rather than at this beautiful and lonely resort.

I have spent this entire letter in infantile mewling, and I cannot even bring myself to care that I have done so. Perhaps if you were to write an angry letter chastising me for my childishness it would break me out of this well of depression.

Watson

***

April 23, 1908 

My dear John,

There is no cure for melancholia, any more than there is a 'cure' for the winter snow that bows a tree branch with its weight. There is only to understand that it is a foul mood of the brain that, like the winter, must pass away beneath the warmth of a seasonal change. You have spent this winter going through an ordeal against desperate odds that has robbed you of all your reserves; it would be unnatural for your brain not to be as worn and exhausted as your person.

As you too well know, my dear man, I am no stranger to the malady which you suffer now; I speak from experience. When I am deep in the throes of a black mood no words from anyone, fair or foul, can lift me from beneath its weight. Only time can free me; and it is time that will free you from your own pain.

I attempted for a long time to 'cure' myself in a manner which only exacerbated the black mood when the cocaine was gone from my system. Had you not helped me free myself of my craving I might yet be a slave to the contents of my morocco case. I have seen enough of the dregs of Society lost in addictions to realise what a slender tightrope I have walked for so long and from which you have delivered me. I truly believe that you have saved my life, and for that I will be forever in your debt.

I can offer no false cures for melancholia, and I dearly beg you not to resort to any false cures in the forms of cocaine or laudanum. I know of your loathing for such oft-misused drugs, and that you hold the same contempt for your fellow physicians who prescribe such as cure-alls as I do for the deductive abilities of our police -- but the black sorrow that has no physical cause can make the staunchest seek relief from any source, even formerly despised ones.

I can only offer you four words, John, and they are true ones: This too shall pass.

Sherlock

*** 

30 April 1908 

My dear fellow,

I pour out a stream of self-pity and receive a lifeline in return.

Your words have given me exactly what I needed to cling to in these black days-simple, unadorned truth. I heard your voice through the words on the paper, and it was as if you were in the room with me, your face revealing so little and your eyes revealing so much.

It has given me the heart to once again emerge from my rooms and to walk the promenade once more. I am still heavy with sorrow, but I am noticing more of my surroundings.

Spring has come to Brighton. Fresh green is growing everywhere, the weather is balmy, the sky is a bright blue, and my poor city- bred lungs do not know what to make of clean sea air that has the tang of neither sulphur nor charcoal. It is easy to see why April was the month when "longen folk to goon on pilgrimages"; the warmth and life everywhere after this dismal winter stir the blood and arouse in a man a great desire to feel the sun on his face again. My own harbinger of spring has come at last; my leg no longer pains me.

As my interest in my surroundings grows I have been amusing myself by observing my fellow guests. Fear not, Holmes; I am indeed using my holiday time to rest and regain my health-I am not the man who refuses to eat or sleep for days at a time whilst puzzling over a case! Yet I cannot resist the urge to employ what small deductive powers I myself have gleaned from my observation of your methods to entertain myself with speculations on guests' occupations, associations and backgrounds. They are a welcome distraction from my melancholy thoughts. My constant exposure to your methods has quite spoilt me for my former unobservant state, and I cannot fault you for it. My own life has become enriched beyond measure as a result of my as sociation with you, my dear chap; for this reason and for reasons we cannot enumerate in their entirety.

For one thing, I have observed that I am far from being the only physician here-in fact, it is as if every veteran of the epidemic has chosen to recuperate at this site. Remain healthy in my absence, Holmes; I fear that Brighton now houses all of London's medical men! I have been making the acquaintance of several of them, whom I know by their reputations and articles if not by face. I do not feel as isolated as I did when first I arrived here.

I am eating well and sleeping more soundly. I have regained flesh-the hotel's fare is justifiably renowned, and it is regaining its savour little by little-and I look forward to your assessment of the change in me. And every time I am overcome with solitude I read your letters, and am not alone any more.

Give my best to Mrs Hudson, and let her know that any other examples of her largesse would not go unappreciated by an exile. I have many of her missed suppers to countervail.

Watson

***

May 2, 1908 

My dear Watson:

You sound immeasurably more cheerful; I am thankful that a few words of mine, in part, are helping you through your morass. It is only measure for measure; you do not know how many times your silent support, or a few well-chosen words from you, lifted my despair at the most crucial moment in a case that was going badly.

Baker Street is showing the usual signs of spring; the last of the snow is churning into dirty puddles beneath the hooves and wheels of the hansom cabs and autobuses, and the spring fogs have shrouded the street in dull yellow.

I have recruited Inspector Lestrade for this little case of mine; it will mollify his department, it will give him the illusion that he is doing all the work, and it may deflect any undue attention towards myself. Perhaps even the criminal element will stir to life now that spring is upon us, and I will once more have work worthy of my abilities. Were it not for the evil tendencies of human nature, Watson, I should feel quite superfluous to the race. The criminal classes have suffered a drastic drop in intelligence and daring, as well as ingenuity, since the demise of my unlamented nemesis.

This has been a lonely winter and a dull one, without my chronicler along on any of my cases. I cannot trust the dimwitted clods of Scotland Yard to research files and backgrounds as thoroughly as you do, and my travels are twice as long as I cannot send any trusted soul to deal with half of the business of a particular case. An unshared hansom cab ride is singularly unproductive; there is no-one with whom I may discuss ideas and theories (save a driver who is often lucky to remember the street I have just requested).

These letters are the longest conversations we have shared for many months, Watson; your long rounds and constant work, stopping at Baker Street only long enough for a hasty meal and a troubled sleep, have made me realise more than ever your contributions to my work and made me keenly feel your absence at my side.

And there were nights, my dearest man, when I heard you come in late from your rounds and cough over your tea, and found that my nonexistent faculty of imagination was quite solid and real enough for terrible fears. If the influenza had taken you from me, John, I tell you truly that I would have lost half of myself; the black pit into which I would have descended would be as deep and unassailable as Reichenbach, and far more deadly to me than that cataract ever was.

You know I am not a man of many words from the heart; but the end of this evil winter has stirred them to the surface like stones from frozen soil. And as you have seen in the unhappy matter involving the Garrideb family, it takes a great terror for your life for me to verbalize what I constantly feel and do not show. Now, more than ever, I am aware of what is precious to me and what I am unable to lose.

Mrs Hudson has been duly informed of your wishes, and I can smell her baking all the way up the stairs. For my part I shall be very glad to have my stormy petrel of crime fully recovered and scouting London for likely material for his next Strand story -- under the guise of finding interesting cases for his fellow lodger, of course.

Holmes

***

06 May 1908 

Holmes:

I know you are a man of intellect, and I know that you feel far more than you let show; I know that I am a valued companion to you beyond the purpose of chronicling your cases. But to have the written proof before me was more than my heart could comprehend for a long moment. Loyalty and love are powerful and cherished ties between us; but trust and reliance are even more valued commodities. A man may love his wife without trusting her; a man may be loyal to a friend without ever being able to rely on his judgement or abilities. To have all these proofs in my hand make me feel a wealthy man.

Indeed, it was very nearly the unmanning of me before the hotel clerk, as I could not wait for the privacy of my rooms before opening and reading your letter. I am afraid that your words caused me to come perilously close to tears in a public place. From now on, I shall keep your correspondence unopened until I am safely alone.

Do not, I beg you, think your life a superfluous one in the absence of crimes to stop and cases to solve. You are the best and wisest man I have ever known, and the staunchest friend. You hold a place inside me that not even my brother Henry ever held. I came to Baker Street wounded in body and in spirit, seeking only the peace of solitude and routine; I have since embarked upon adventures that make my wartime exploits look tedious, and found my life given new meaning and purpose. And joy; great joy at having come to know you, my friend.

It is late at night, but I had to write as soon as I could bring myself to put down your letter and take up pen again.

Thursday.

I wished to tell you that I have recently taken to frequenting a Turkish bath here; it is a splendidly outfitted facility, being part of the restoratives situated around the Regent's Pavilion, which Indian splendour adds to the oriental character of the spa.

I have been making the acquaintance of several other London physicians who are regulars there; it has been a comfort to smoke a pipe after the masseur's work and to indulge in shop-talk and news from home in such a civilised milieu.

We have in fact been sharing war-stories about the epidemic, and my heart is easier than it has been for many months to find that my tragic experiences were not unique. One fellow, a Gaylord Barrett (his great white muttonchop whiskers would put your brother Mycroft's to shame), has been doubly burdened with grief; one child who died under his care was his own nephew, his younger sister's only son.

It sounds a heartless thing to say, Holmes, but it is the truth: Exchanging such sorrowful tales with fellow sufferers has made me realise that my distress is not unique, and that my own painful experiences could have been a great deal worse. They have made it easier for me to reconcile myself to the suffering I was unable to ease, clearing my conscience; I know I have played my part in battling a great horror.

(Indeed, the efficacy of these visits have made me consider the merits of providing such establishments for the sole custom of men wounded in war; they too might benefit from a shared unburdening of such singular pain as attends the war-wounded, especially those men whose wounds cannot be seen with the naked eye.)

The Turkish bath has proved such a restorative for me that I strongly recommend that you frequent our usual haunt and do the same, Holmes-and I speak not just as your friend but as a doctor. It may ease your sense of solitude and help shake off the dreariness of this past winter, as it has for me. As your present case is uneventful (in your own words), no doubt you are at your usual routine of late sleep and a healthy appetite, in between bouts of mollifying your illustrious client and humiliating the police (and enjoying that part of it much more than you should, dear fellow!). As long as your resident physician remains in exile, you must care for yourself a little better than is your wont. And given your erratic pace when on a case, the unsavoury haunts you inhabit whilst so occupied, and your poor self-care otherwise, the most amazing mystery is how you yourself managed to completely avoid the influenza this entire winter!

Brighton is beautiful and restful; but I am homesick for muddy hansoms and sullen ochre fogs, and the foul-smelling experiments and cacophonous violin chords of my temperamental fellow lodger. Soon I will be completely recovered; I look forward to the day when I can return to dear old Baker Street and once again sit before the hearth with my most intimate friend and speak of all that is most important to the two of us.

Watson

***

May 10, 1908 

My dear Watson:

By now the papers should have reached your resort, and you know that my drear little case is concluded. As journalists seem to have no more grasp of the truth than their brethren who turn out reams of yellow-backed novels, or even those who sell romantically distorted illustrations of the deductive method to fiction magazines, I would strongly advise you to mistrust nine- tenths of the article's content. Yes, the Hope Diamond was involved, and yes, a Mr Sherlock Holmes was employed in its retrieval; the rest is a lamentably badly-told work of fantasy.

The "well-armed band of lawless ruffians" (that description courtesy of Inspector Lestrade) consisted of a pair of cudgel- bearing louts with all the backbone of a lobster, who fled at the first sign that their targets fought back. Lestrade received a commendation for bravely pursuing and collaring two men whom Mrs Hudson could have subdued with a stern look for tracking mud in her hallway.

I neglected to mention in a previous missive that Lestrade had inquired after you -- he wished to know why I had appeared without my "other half," as he jocularly put it -- and did seem brusquely sympathetic when told of your whereabouts. He informs me that he was one of your influenza patients. His current robust health and excellent fabrication abilities are a testimonial to your skill as a physician.

This afternoon I took my doctor's advice, and did indeed get some good from the steam and the masseur's hands. I fear, however, that the missing vital spark in our usual haunt is the same as in the unshared hansom cabs and the silent rooms in 221b. It has been too long since I have smelt your tobacco smoke, or heard your humming over the scratch of your pen, that settle my mind in a peace and contentment that nothing else can produce.

Especially too long has it been since we have engaged in our eagerly anticipated games of chess. Weariness and distress make a poor games-player, and we have hardly even seen each other all this past winter. I am only a desultory player, but I vividly recall those times when we faced each other across our playing field, matched move to move, maneuvering 'round each other for the victorious position and the moment of glory before the king must needs be tipped over at the climax of the game. I have spent this April longing for your presence across the board in a game both of us know so well. That first shared game, surely, will be the sweetest reward upon your return.

Write me soon, my most esteemed opponent.

Holmes

***

13 May 1908 Holmes:

You are quite right about the papers; your name is being bandied about down here to a great extent in connection with the recovery of the famous gem. I am keeping very silent about it everywhere I go here, not so much out of deference to your wishes as to avoid unwanted attention drawn to myself as your colleague.

Your depiction of Lestrade and your opponents left me doubled over and weak with laughter, tears running down my face. It is the hardest and longest I have laughed in many months, and it was as if a stone had been rolled off my heart. But you really ought to control your pen better than that, Sherlock - I am an invalid, and any more sudden exertions could bring on a relapse!

I am pleased that Lestrade is fully recovered – he was stricken early in February, as I recall, and I became too engrossed with worse-stricken patients to learn how he had convalesced.

It was not my skill alone that brought about Inspector Lestrade's return to health; the tender ministrations of his wife Helen had a great deal to do with his rapid recovery. She had worked as a nurse before she married, and her brisk attentiveness to both of us showed her professional and her wifely concerns. She coaxed him into eating, bathed him at his fever's height, and soothed his agitation by tender gestures and words. Many times she appeared more haggard than her husband when I arrived at the house, and I knew that she had been up all night tending him. It is just as well that you never caught the influenza, Holmes; I know exactly how you would react to my nursing you in like manner.

And as for our chess games...how could I have forgotten them? Alas, they have been far too easily forgotten these dark cold months; only now, with my vigour and interest in life returning day by day in the light of spring, do my thoughts return to the games we played.

Still, we belong to an exclusive and utterly secret chess club, whose secrets we are not free to divulge. Do not forget the unhappy fate of our fellow club member not a decade since, after his two-year stay in Reading Gaol. I strongly urge you to be more circumspect, and not to mention our private and precious games again lest we be tempted to incautiousness.

I am better; and whether the sea air, the food, the rest, the steam, the exchanged stories with fellow sufferers, your letters, or a combination of all of them are responsible, I continue to recover by leaps and bounds. My old dreams are finally fading, and I am grateful. I have had my fill of nights where I see you toss and sweat in delirium, begging me to help you, prevented by some invisible barrier from approaching you until all is lost, and I can touch you only to close your eyes and note the time of death...

Enough. Those dreams are the conjurings of a weary, immeasurably lonely mind and heart. The spring weather now runs in my veins as well as in the air; my new dreams are uneasy things, the dreams of a young man. The Turkish baths now make me restive; I want no touch, or more.

I long to see you again, my friend – and, forbidden though we are even to speak of our society, I do indeed long for chess with you.

Watson

***

May 18, 1908 

My dear Watson:

You were quite right to admonish me in your last missive about my indiscretions regarding our private club; I can only attribute my carelessness to my profound relief at my dear friend's recovery after weeks of fear for his health and very life. It seems I too am feeling the touch of spring-fever.

It is not only spring-fever that assails me now, but cabin-fever. Baker Street is become a madhouse since my last case; journalists and photographers cluster at the doorway every day, and I must field their absurd questions and comments every time I enter or leave. Letters arrive by the droves, pleading for my help in other cases, and not an interesting one in the lot. They have succeeded in making me yearn for the solitude of the dark fog and the silent rooms which were mine prior to the solution of this wretched case. I regret not insisting that my client take his business to Scotland Yard where he should have gone in the first place. You have much to answer for, John, if your accounts are to blame for such name-glorious clients dunning me about such trivial matters!

To make matters worse, Mrs Hudson is fuming and fretting, ready for her annual fit of spring-cleaning; she wonders out loud how long I plan to remain underfoot when she has vital work to do. I feel squeezed between a rock and a hard place; neither the outdoors nor Baker Street is haven any more. I believe our good landlady would like me to accept one of the many written requests for my aid, preferably the one furthest from London, and conveniently disappear long enough for her to disrupt my files and rearrange my papers.

Perhaps I will, dreadful though that prospect looms. All I know is that I cannot stay here very much longer.

Holmes

***

May 20, 1908 

Dear Dr Watson:

I hope you are recovering well from your dreadful winter, and that Mr Holmes will start recovering too. It must be a bit of a surprise, receiving Mr Holmes' last letter in the post about the same time that you will be receiving Mr Holmes himself.

It will be nothing short of relief, having him out of the rooms where he was moping around glum as a month of wet weather. And I made sure that I sent him where he most needed sending.

And neither of you need be so surprised that I know where he went, when he took off without word of warning nor destination this morning. I haven't rented to the cleverest man in London all these years without learning something about his mind and the way he works, after all! All it took was a bit of haranguing at the height of the fuss over this Hope Diamond business to make him realise where he best ought to go, to escape both those dreadful newspapermen and his single-minded landlady. I made it look as if he thought of going to Brighton to see you all on his own, and a neat little job if I say so myself – but then, we women tend to be better at getting men to do what we want than we let on!

Mr Holmes has missed you terribly these past two months, Dr. Watson. He was eating and sleeping a bit better than before you left, but not what I'd call proper rest and food. (Oh, but he never did get as dreadful-looking as you did, my dear – those last few days before we packed you off to Brighton you looked as if you'd risen from a coffin to make your rounds, rather than a proper bed.) He did brighten up whenever he got your letters (and I do love the postcard you sent me of the Regent's Pavilion, it's such a grand Hindoo-looking thing), and he would read them right away, leaving all sorts of important-looking telegrams and letters unread in the meantime. He was getting very prim and sharp with me lately, the way he gets after a case and when you are not around to blunt his manner a bit.

Now I won't worry about either of you any more; both of you can convalesce in peace. Mr Holmes will sleep and eat better for having seen you with his own eyes and be in a better temper too, and you'll stop being so lonely and sad. I was once married myself, and I know these things.

I am really very grateful to have 221b all to myself for the present, as my spring cleaning goes much more quickly without two useless men getting in the way of the carpet-sweeper and the dustmop. Be sure and stay away from Baker Street for at least another fortnight, both of you, and let an honest woman get her work done.

Very truly yours,

Rosalie Hudson

P.S. You see that I have sent twice as many scones as in the previous parcels; you be sure to share them fairly with Mr Holmes!

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1994. Originally appeared in Kathleen Resch's zine No Holds Barred #9.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic of gardnerhill's Brighton Memoirs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396243) by [gardnerhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill), [methylviolet10b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b), [MonkeyBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyBard/pseuds/MonkeyBard)




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